


The Rules of Engagement

by connerluthorkent



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e11 They Did What?, Pre-Slash, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connerluthorkent/pseuds/connerluthorkent
Summary: Oswald gets kidnapped by the Chessmen. When Ed shows up, things take an unexpected turn.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 23
Kudos: 198





	The Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps. 
> 
> It goes without saying, but unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine.

He had been kidnapped by the goddamn _Chessmen_. They dress like life-sized chess pieces, for god’s sake!

And not just any pieces on the board, no. Two _pawns_ , which was, frankly, insulting. He was the fucking _Penguin_! He’s runthis town twice over. They could have at least had the decency to send a knight, or a rook, if not the queen herself, to detain the once and future king of Gotham. 

It was _embarrassing_ , and Oswald was blaming his newly impaired vision one hundred percent for their ability to get the drop on him. He wasn’t sure, though, how much that truly maintained his dignity in all of this.

The pawn on the right, dressed all in red, is currently monologuing, Oswald only resisting the urge to roll his one good eye because he currently needs it to keep track of both their movements. 

“Gotham is an empty board for the conquering, and the Chessmen intend to take her!” 

Oswald sneers at the belabored metaphor.

“I fear there may be a few too many pieces on the board for a straight forward checkmate,” he observes wryly, “I’m hardly the only major player in Gotham.”

As he speaks, he works the bobby pin from the cuff of his jacket, having managed to shake it loose from his hair and pilifer it up his sleeve when the two goons had nabbed him, both none the wiser. All he has to do is keep them talking, distracted, long enough to jimmy open his cuffs and get at the knife strapped to his calf.

“We captured you, the infamously formidable Penguin, with little to no fanfare,” the white pawn off to the left observes derisively, “just like we’ll take them all, one by one.”

“Well, personally, I don’t favor your odds. I would hardly call myself impressed with your mediocre little Renaissance Fair display,” he inclines his head towards their attire, wincing in mock sympathy. “Not exactly intimidating, is it?” 

The white piece slaps Oswald hard across the face with his pistol. Oswald clenches his jaw, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath to steady himself. He straightens his neck and then spits directly into the lackey’s eye.

“Are you quite done?” he asks, deadpan, biting back a pleased smile when the goon splutters in outrage, wiping viciously at his face.

The pawn rears back to pistol whip him again. All three men freeze, however, Oswald included, when a door slams open behind them. 

Then Ed strides in, all confident smooth lines in that garish green suit of his, and Oswald’s entire body slumps in relief.

The two pawns spin around and take a few paces backwards, flanking Oswald as they face Ed.

“The Riddler!” the red pawn crows, as the white pawn suddenly grips Oswald’s shoulder roughly with one hand, pressing the barrel of his gun against the back of Oswald’s skull with the other. “Just the rogue we were hoping to see!”

Ed glides gracefully across the warehouse floor towards them, drawn up to his full height in a way that makes his usually lanky frame look broader, unexpectedly intimidating.

“And here I am!” Ed answers with a dramatic flourish of one arm, his other hand pointed steadily out in front of him, pistol leveled at the red piece’s chest. 

“We have a proposal for you,” the red piece says as the white one curls his fingers around Oswald’s collar bone menacingly, “you pay a pretty ransom for your bird here, promise to turn the Diamond District over to the Chessmen, and we’ll hand the Penguin back over to you.”

Oswald opens his mouth to snap that they can have his territory when he’s dead and sinking to the bottom of the Gotham Harbor, but Ed is speaking before he has the chance. 

“Uh-uh-uh,” Ed chides, wagging an admonishing finger, “you haven’t heard my counter proposal.” 

Ed raises a cocky eyebrow, voice like silk.

“I’ll take care of Penguin, permanently, as a show of good faith to the Chessmen, then you let me keep the Diamond District. The Chessmen can have the rest of Gotham, and we can negotiate further terms of the arrangement once he’s been dealt with.” 

Oswald draws in a sharp in-take of breath, feeling as though the air has suddenly been stolen from his lungs. His heart sinks into his stomach like a stone, body seizing with nauseated panic as he looks up into Ed’s glowing, giddy face.

Words bubble up at the back of his throat, useless and heavy like lead, choking him. This is the part where Oswald would typically talk his way out of this. Beg, plead, say whatever it takes to survive. But he’s been, quite foolishly, struck dumb by Ed. Robbed of his senses by this betrayal he should have prepared for, but, frankly, had failed to foresee. 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, leaving him gaping like a suffocating fish. Much like his many ill-fated attempts to confess his feelings for Ed, he finds himself suddenly robbed of his ability to speak. His silver tongue failing him at last. 

It feels inevitable. Ed had always said they were fated. It seems fate is finally catching up with him. 

“Ed,” he finally manages to croak, Ed’s name a strangled gasp on his lips, the blood in his veins turning to ice at the sound of it. 

Ed doesn’t even spare him a glance, eyes locked on the two pawns as he shoots them that sharp, Cheshire smile of his, baring all his teeth. 

“What’d'ya say?”

“But—but you’re his guy!” the white pawn splutters, clutching Oswald’s shoulders painfully.

Oswald winces at the befuddled anxiety in the goon’s voice, a mirror to his own racing heart, as though he had puppeted the pawn’s mouth to gasp out his own words. 

Ed scoffs, jaw clenching as he shoots the lackey a withering look.

“Nothing more than a ruse, I assure you. You see, there’s a long-standing debt between us, and it’s time I collect. Besides,” Ed shrugs, unruffled, “it’s not as though there was truly enough room in one district for _two_ head crimelords. He was a means to an end.” 

There’s an expression of casual distaste on his face, like a man brushing a pesky piece of lint off his jacket. 

“And it appears that end has come.”

“Ed,” Oswald suddenly sputters, desperate, “Ed, I’m sorry, I thought this was all behind us, I thought—” 

_I thought you forgave me_ dies on his lips when Ed’s eyes finally cut to him, their usually warm brown depths as black and unyielding as the abyss. 

“I’ll get rid of him,” Ed says, the cold, steely edge in his voice making Oswald flinch, “but you have to let _me_ do it. For me, this is _personal._

The two pawns pause, uncertain, and Ed clenches his teeth, irritation coming off him in waves. 

“Look at it this way,” he continues, dangerously even, “Oswald Cobblepot is _notoriously_ difficult to kill. He’s been a formidable force in this city for years. Word gets out that I took care of it, at your behest? Then my seat of power is just one that reinforces yours. Let me do it, and I’ll be loyal to you.” 

Oswald can feel the tension in the room, a steady pause in which he knows the two men are conferring with each other with a loaded glance. Their inevitable assent is clear from the relieved smile that blooms on Ed’s face.

“Alright,” he hears the white one say, directly over his head, “he’s yours.”

“Excellent,” Ed purrs, teeth gleaming in the harsh warehouse lighting. “Then we have an accord.”

He reaches out, shaking the red pawn’s hand, before twirling back to resume his position, looming over Oswald once more. 

“A little room, gentlemen?” Ed asks, and the pair dutifully step back from where they’d been flanking Oswald’s chair, giving Ed space as he bends forward to face Oswald head on. 

Ed leans dangerously into his space, letting out a soft chuckle when Oswald instinctively recoils.

“This has been a long time coming,” Ed shoots him a satisfied little grin, echoing his earlier thoughts, “we both know that, Oswald.”

It haunts him, that smile, a jarring juxtaposition to the soft look Ed had given him in the firelight the night of the battle for Gotham. Oswald remembers it vividly, the press of Ed’s knife between his shoulder blades, teetering on the edge, as they had so many times before. When they’d come out of the hug unscathed, sheathing their weapons simultaneously, he’d hoped that maybe that had been the end of it, his and Ed’s deadly back-and-forth over at long last. That warm smile Ed gave him felt like a promise. He supposes he should have known better. Nothing in Gotham could ever be so simple. 

It wasn’t as though Oswald had never played the long game himself. He’d be impressed, and almost...proud, if not for the bile rising up in his throat threatening to strangle him. 

“Ed,” Oswald says, soft and desperate, teeth grinding at the pained break in his own voice, “Ed, please.”

Ed levels the barrel of his pistol at Oswald’s heart. 

_I will stare you in the eye, as I stab you in the heart_.

At least he’d made good on his promise. 

“Goodbye, Oswald,” he says, the echo ringing in Oswald’s ears.

Icy dread like the cold water of the harbor floods through Oswald’s veins from head to toe, freezing him in place. It takes everything in him not to screw his eyes shut, to keep his gaze steady on Ed, eyes tracing over his face one last time. There are worse things to see before one dies. Oswald should know. 

Then, Ed winks at him. 

Before Oswald has time to register what’s happening, Ed swings his hand over his shoulder, two shots ringing in the air as he takes down Oswald’s assailants, one-two. He pauses for a moment in the aftermath, triumphant glint in his eyes, gun still trained over Oswald’s shoulder, a funhouse mirror image of the night all those years ago Ed had stepped out of the shadows to reveal _himself_ as Oswald’s betrayer.

“Come on, we need to go,” Ed says, quickly freeing Oswald from the cuffs and grasping his hand as he sprints across the warehouse, “in case there’s more of them on the way.” 

  


Once they’re outside the warehouse and back on Gotham’s burned out streets, Ed lets out a delighted cackle, still tugging Oswald along by the hand. 

“They really should consider renaming, or at least come up with a better screening process for recruits,” Ed muses, that magnetic grin spilling across his face. “That pair of pawns didn’t have a scrap of strategy between them. A win that I suppose makes me Gotham’s reigning grandmaster.”

Normally, Oswald would be groaning at the wordplay, but he’s doing well at the moment to keep himself upright, heart still racing, breathing becoming increasingly difficult. He’s faced down death innumerable times before, so he’s got no explanation for it, the way his vision suddenly tunnels, as though the city itself is closing in around him. 

“Stop,” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest as he doubles over. “Ed, stop.”

“What?” Ed asks, grin dropping suddenly as he blinks owlishly down at him. “What is it, Oswald?” 

There’s an edge of worry in his voice, tense and urgent. Oswald can’t handle it, that touch of anxiety around the corners of Ed’s frown, that glimpse of _concern_ , so he reacts the only way he knows how: rage.

" _What_ the hell was that, back there?!" Oswald screeches, flapping his hands violently at Ed, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Oswald,” Ed rolls his eyes, wheeling around to face Oswald directly, that nagging edge in his voice that sometimes creeps in when he feels Oswald is being particularly overdramatic, “I had everything under con—"

He cuts off when he takes in Oswald’s face. The outrage that had lit up Ed’s features drops just as suddenly, his eyes flicking from Oswald’s face to his shaking arms and back again. His brow furrows in confusion, face softening as he reaches for Oswald’s trembling hand.

"You're shaking," he says, voice gentle. "Why are you shaking?"

"Why do you think?!" Oswald spits at him, terrified fury burning behind his eyes as he jerks his hand away from Ed's.

“Did you—? You thought I had actually betrayed you,” Ed says with sudden clarity, his voice suspiciously flat. 

If Oswald didn’t know any better, he’d say the flash in Ed’s eyes seems almost _hurt_ ,in that brief instant before his expression shutters back into one of careful indifference. 

“What was I supposed to think, Ed?!” Oswald snarls, the rough edge of his voice betraying the tears he’s biting back. “It’s not as though it would be the first time!”

“Oswald,” Ed says slowly, voice mired with the put-upon patience of someone dealing with an unruly child, “it was all just a ruse. I thought you understood. I thought,” his voice wavers, “I thought that we were past all that.”

“Yes, well, so did I!” the words burst from Oswald’s lips as though of their own volition. “So imagine my horror at facing the prospect that we might _not_ be!”

Oswald’s shoulders have hunched inward, embarrassed and cornered, like an animal ready to strike. 

“I think,” Ed says, tone even, all business, “we need a new pact, formally.” 

Ed squares his shoulders, gearing up for whatever he’s going to say next. And then, _of course_ , he’s reciting a riddle.

“I can be neither bought nor sold but am more valuable than gold. I am built, but not by hand. What am I?”

Oswald stifles a groan, catching the edges of sincerity on Ed’s face. After a quiet sigh and a moment of contemplation, he hesitantly answers.

“Trust?” 

Ed nods, giving him a small smile. 

“Cards on the table,” Ed says, spreading his hands out in front of him, “I have no intention of betraying you again, Oswald.”

He looks at Oswald, raising an expectant eyebrow.

“Are _you_ planning to betray _me_?”

Oswald’s shoulders slump, defeated.

“Of course not, Ed,” he sighs, “but we’ve had the best of intentions towards each other in the past, and yet we always inevitably seem to end up right back where we started. How will we ever be able to truly trust this again?" 

He gestures hopelessly between them.

Ed tilts his head, considering.

“I guess we’ll just have to keep proving it to each other,” Ed acquises, “again and again.” 

His lips quirk up into a smirk that borders on cheeky.

“I can be quite persuasive when I put my mind to something, you know.”

Oswald can’t help but roll his eyes at the almost parodically salacious way Ed raises his eyebrows, but he can feel the corners of his own mouth curling upward, betraying him. 

“A handshake, then,” Oswald starts, extending his hand towards Ed in a show of good faith, “to seal our new pact?” 

Ed hums, considering.

“Actually, I had something else in mind.”

Oswald’s heart skips a beat, wondering if Ed will propose another hug and feeling utterly ridiculous at just how much the thought pleases him, especially given the events that have transpired in the last half hour. 

Then Ed leans over and presses his lips to Oswald’s. The kiss is so brief and so chaste, there’s no time for Oswald to react before Edward is pulling away. 

“There,” Ed says, giving Oswald another cheeky wink, “Sealed with a kiss.” 

His lips spread into a Cheshire grin as he takes in Oswald’s gobsmacked expression, icy green eye widened to a size bordering on comical. 

Oswald clears his throat, trying to steady himself, the lingering feel of the press of Ed’s lips and the twinkle in his eye leaving him totally wrong-footed. 

“And,” he says, his own traitorous voice cracking in the middle, “will this particular method of brokering deals be a formal part of our future...engagement?”

“I believe,” Ed says, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a knowing smirk, “that can be arranged.”

Ed reaches for his hand, tucking Oswald’s arm in his as he gently continues to lead him down the street, as though everything that had just transpired between them constituted nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. 

They haven’t gone more than a block when Ed suddenly hums to himself, contemplative.

“I am, you know,” he says conversationally.

Oswald gazes up at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow, utterly bewildered.

“Your guy,” Ed explains.

He waves a knowing, dismissive hand, as though it’s a given, but the small, private smile that creeps onto his face belies his nonchalance. 

Oswald finds himself, for the second time that day, struck speechless by this brilliant, infuriatingly unpredictable man.

He squeezes Ed’s arm, curling closer to him, a gentle warmth spreading throughout his entire body. 

This partnership just might work out after all.


End file.
